He's Lost Without His Blogger
by lookaliveerin
Summary: Set after the beginning of The Great Game, Sherlock finds himself alone and realises just how much he needed John around.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of the characters. **

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"What've you done to my bloody wall?" Mrs Hudson gasped, staring at the yellow smiley-face that had bullet marks in it. "I'm putting this on your rent young man!"  
Sherlock admired the new addition of detail he had decorated the room with. It looked much less boring now.  
_Boom_.  
Darkness surrounded Sherlock's mind and vision.

Sherlock groaned when he snapped back to consciousness, rubbing his eyes with one hand. His other hand felt the familiar material of his bed. His eyes fluttered open properly and he sat up, looking around the room. The last thing he remembered was a loud noise, drowning his thoughts. Then there was black, and all he could think of was John. Where's John?  
Sherlock flung his legs over his bed and ran out of his bedroom and into the living room. He found the room empty, and surprisingly clean. He rushed over to the windows which had been smashed during the explosion, and examined them quickly to see if there were any traces. Nothing.  
"Why are you stroking the window, Sherlock?"  
He spun on his heels and saw Mrs Hudson, stood with a confused look on her face in the doorway of the flat.  
"When did these get repaired?" he asked.  
Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow. "They got fixed months ago, dear. You know that."  
"Where's John?" Sherlock glanced past her, trying to see if his friend was with her.  
Her hand raised to her mouth and she covered it, then waved her hands a bit and rushed out of the room.  
Sherlock glared at the empty doorway. Then he turned to where his smiley face was. It looked exactly the same, no damage, except for the bullets he knew were there. Sherlock went back into his bedroom and picked up his phone from the small table next to his bed.  
**Where's John? – SH **  
Sherlock carried the phone close to him as he walked back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grinned slightly at the severed head that was still there. He remembered John shouting at him for that. Where had he gotten off to? Plus, Mycroft was taking longer than usual to reply. The phone buzzed.  
**_I believe we've had this conversation before. I wish I knew. – MH  
_**Sherlock stared at the screen for a second, his eyebrows joining together. He pressed the call button and waited.  
"Brother."  
"Mycroft."  
"What is it now?" Mycroft's tone was different. He was uncharacteristically soft in his voice, tired almost.  
"What did that text mean?" Sherlock asked.  
"Sherlock, have you slept at all lately?" Mycroft sighed. "You've been told that you're making yourself feel worse if you don't sleep, remember."  
"Mycroft, tell me where John is or I will tell mother that you haven't been dieting for the past month."  
"Sherlock," for the first time, Mycroft seemed unsure of what to say next. "I don't know anything more than you do on this topic. When you were five, you asked me what happened and I told you the traditional comfort, and then when you were eight, you told me what you think really happens."  
"Stop dodging my question Mycroft," Sherlock's voice shook a bit. "This has no relation to John. Did he go to get Milk or is he at... What's her name? You know who I mean, her house?"  
There was a pause.  
"Sherlock, John's been dead for the past two months and you know that."  
Sherlock hung up the phone and stared at it in disbelief.  
"That's a sick joke, Mycroft." He muttered, slamming the phone on the table and walking out of his flat to find Mrs Hudson.

He found her making a cup of tea in her own kitchen, and she turned and smiled weakly at him when he arrived.  
"Tea, dear?"  
"No thank you Mrs Hudson," Sherlock answered. He always tried to be polite to her, since she was always looking out for him. He'd never really had somebody like her. Sherlock stayed lingering in the doorway, watching her awkwardly as she made herself a drink.  
"Is something bothering you, Sherlock?"  
"What happened with the explosion?" he said bluntly.  
"Well, they said it was a gas leak, remember?" Mrs Hudson was quite surprised at Sherlock's sudden mind-blank.  
"I don't mean _why_ it happened," Sherlock rolled his eyes then regretted it after seeing her expression. "What happened to me?"  
"Well, you just got a bit dusty, wanted to know what happened right away." She giggled.  
"And John?"  
She didn't answer straight away, taking a sip of her tea in silence. Sherlock was getting impatient.  
"I only know what you got told too, dear."  
"Mrs Hudson, I don't remember!"  
She nodded her head slowly. She'd been told he might react like this.  
"Sherlock, he crossed the street after your little domestic and was hit with the explosion."  
Sherlock studied her face for a few seconds, expressionless.  
"John is dead?" he asked, looking away from her and at the floor.  
"Yes dear."  
Sherlock nodded his head once, spun on his heels and walked out of the flat calmly. He left 221B and stood looking at the building opposite, which was still looking broken and destroyed.  
**_I'm sorry, Sherlock. –MH  
_****Stop spying on me. –SH**

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**Hey! If you could leave a little review on this fanfic, I would be very happy as it helps me to improve my writing and therefore gives you better content to read! Thank ya! ^_^**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!**

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It couldn't be denied that Sherlock spent the rest of the day thinking the events over and over. He remembered what happened before John left. John was angry that Sherlock put a severed head in the fridge. But where else was he meant to put it? He remembered John storming out of the flat, and Sherlock just ignored it. And then John died.  
Sherlock tangled his hands in his hair and shut his eyes, thinking. Thinking of what? He was feeling emotion. It was obvious.  
_"Sherlock?" _his head snapped up and his eyes opened quickly. He knew that voice. It was John.  
"John?" he asked, quickly and almost desperately. He was confused at his own tone of voice, his own emotions. He rarely felt real, lasting emotion, and whenever he did, he tried to avoid letting it show.  
"No... It's just me, dear." Mrs Hudson sighed as she walked slowly into the flat. "Just thought I'd pop in to see how you feel."  
Sherlock stared at the woman. "I'm fine."  
"Okay." She smiled at him lightly then left the room again, leaving Sherlock sat alone.  
He flipped his legs up onto the couch and lay there, staring at the ceiling.  
**_You best move from that couch before I get there – MH  
_No –SH**

Sherlock waited for his brother, not having the effort to move and get away from 221B before he arrived. He heard the footsteps come up the stairs and then a creaky floorboard.  
"Brother." Sherlock greeted, not moving his focus from the ceiling which he had been looking at for too long.  
"_Sherlock, will you get up please?" _  
Sherlock practically flew up from the couch, starring at his brother ahead of him who looked slightly startled by the manic look on his sibling's face.  
"Something wrong?" Mycroft asked, taking a seat.  
"That's John's chair."  
Mycroft looked at his brother for a few seconds before swapping over into Sherlock's chair. He felt it best not to argue with him at the current time.  
"What's really wrong?" Mycroft continued.  
"You sounded like John." Sherlock's voice was almost a whisper. Was that uncertainty Mycroft detected?  
Mycroft's expression didn't change with Sherlock's comment. He silently took his phone out of his pocket and sent a text.  
"You're informing someone of my behaviour," Sherlock stated. "Who?"  
"Your doctor," Mycroft answered, knowing that lying to him was useless. Sherlock had a way of finding out a lot of things very quickly and very easily.  
"My doctor?" he responded. "What doctor?"  
"The one you have had for the past two months."  
Sherlock knew the answer but asked anyway. "Why do I need one of those?"  
Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing his brother just wanted to be told the answer straight. "Because I got worried for your health."  
"Mental health."  
"Yes."  
Sherlock groaned. "I'm fine, Mycroft."  
"Of course."  
Sherlock stood from his seat and walked to where his violin was waiting for him. He picked it up and played the most annoying notes he could imagine, and eventually, Mycroft left 221B without another word.

**_I've got a case, interested? –Lestrade  
_Depends. What happened? – SH  
_I'm 5 mins away – Lestrade  
_**Sherlock stood up and straightened his suit, awaiting the arrival of Lestrade. Perhaps having a new case to solve would provide him with some distraction. He counted eight minutes pass before Lestrade actually arrived, but decided not to comment on it.  
"Well?" Sherlock asked, looking at the detective inspector.  
"Thirty-four year old woman," he began, passing some photographs and a piece of paper that described a friend's interview to the consulting detective. "She was reported missing yesterday, and we found her body in her own basement. All of her family live in the North so her friend was the only person who noticed her disappearance."  
Sherlock stared at Lestrade. "You really are an idiot, Lestrade."  
"Wha-?"  
"It's obvious. This woman was killed by the friend who reported her missing, who decided that if she reported it then she would not be considered a suspect. But why did she kill her, you ask? Well, she was competition. In the interview, she states that they were very good friends and hated to be apart from each other, and that is why they were working in the same business. The woman has been killed in what is clearly her work attire, and she must have been dead for a few days before she was reported missing and found." Sherlock explained. "The friend killed her because they were both aiming for a promotion. Ah! But that's not all of it. She was jealous of the woman's relationship with their boss."  
"How do you get any of that from those resources?" Lestrade responded, his mouth hanging open slightly. "_Amazing._"  
Sherlock looked at Lestrade blankly for a second. For a second, he sounded just like John. Why did everything remind him of John?  
"Sherlock, are you okay?" Lestrade asked.  
"Yes, I'm fine."  
"I'm sorry, I should have listened to Mycroft when he said-"  
"What did he say?" Sherlock snapped.  
"He just told me to leave you without the cases for a while. Doctor's orders, apparently." Lestrade shrugged. "_I thought it might help_."  
Sherlock studied his face. "It did. Thank you."  
Lestrade looked even more shocked at that response. Sherlock Holmes had thanked him.  
"I should be thanking you for solving my case," Lestrade forced a laugh. "I best be off then. See you later Sherlock."  
"Yes. Goodbye."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!**

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People usually struggled to get Sherlock to sleep, but that first night was like torture to his mind. It was his favourite thing about himself, his brain, however he could not deal with it that one night. Sherlock lay in bed for a few minutes before trying to get his brain to shut off, forcing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything but John. How could he have died like that and left Sherlock alone?  
After a few hours of being completely restless, Sherlock drifted off into a deep sleep.

_"I miss you Sherlock."  
Sherlock was surrounded in darkness. Where was the voice coming from?  
"John?" he called out. "Where are you?"  
"I wish I could read your mind," John's voice said. "Well, I mean, I'm not too sure I would like to know how that crazy mind of yours works, but just at this very moment."  
"Stop avoiding my question, John!" Sherlock shouted, spinning around and looking for his friend anywhere that he could. But there was no place to look for the man.  
"Mycroft cares, you know?" John explained, sadness in his voice although he was trying to make it sound happy. "I can't believe we thought he was so heartless at times. I shouldn't say that really, he's probably monitoring my conversation right now."  
Sherlock still searched. He probably would have smiled, even a little bit, at the comment if it wasn't said at a time he couldn't detect the location of the voice's owner.  
"I miss you, John." _

Sherlock's eyes opened very slowly. He shut them again as soon as he had opened them, wanting to go back.  
"_Sherlock, you need to wake up now."  
_Sherlock snapped his head up and stared at Mrs Hudson. She looked a bit unnerved at his sudden movement and crazed face.  
"What's wrong dear?"  
"Why does everybody sound like John?" he asked, to himself more than her.  
"I'm calling Mycroft," Mrs Hudson said, rushing out of the room.  
"Don't!" Sherlock yelled, shooting out of the bed and racing after the woman.  
He saw Mycroft sat on the couch. Why didn't he realise Mrs Hudson was tricking him? Stupid.  
"Sherlock, I'm sending you to a very good therapist," Mycroft explained to his brother as he took his seat.  
"I don't think you are, brother." Sherlock snarled back.  
"Stop denying that you are upset, you're hearing his voice. It's not right, it's not normal Sherlock."  
"I'm not normal," Sherlock shouted. "Sociopath, remember?"  
"I do not think you are," Mycroft replied calmly. "John agreed with me."  
Sherlock felt his heart sink. John.  
Mycroft watched his brother's expression change ever so slightly at the mention of the name, and knew he definitely needed to do something soon before things went back to how he used to be.  
"Did he?" Sherlock asked.  
"I wouldn't lie about that."  
The room was consumed by silence for a few minutes; Sherlock sat staring blankly at a wall and Mycroft watching his brother.  
"I still don't want to see a therapist."  
"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed.  
"And how do you plan on getting me there if I just refuse?"  
"Don't test me."  
"Or what?"  
"John would want you to get help." Mycroft said in his eerily calm voice again.  
Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds. What if the therapist made John's voice go away? He didn't think he wanted that.  
"I'll take that as a yes, I will send a car for you in two hours." Mycroft stated, not giving Sherlock a chance to oppose him, and left the flat quickly.  
Sherlock groaned and flopped onto the couch again. He didn't want to go speak to somebody about his feelings. It was not going to make him feel any better and he knew that.

After two hours, Sherlock was on his way to see the therapist. He decided to go without causing any fuss, because he knew he could probably get some entertainment out of the trip.  
The waiting room was dull. He saw two other people sat far away from each other. One clearly had OCD, and was ordering the magazines on the table by alphabetical order and making sure they were in a perfectly straight pile. The other person had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He looked very tired, so obviously his sleeping pattern had been disturbed. He was also looking between the woman ordering the magazines and the ceiling constantly, clearly irritated by her behaviour, and when Sherlock's name was called the man jumped in panic at the sudden noise in the deathly silent room. Sherlock snapped out of his little daydream. He hadn't noticed that he was so focussed on watching the man. He reminded him of John.  
"Sherlock Holmes?" a man read from a list, looking between the three patients. "Are you here?"  
"Yes, yes, give me a chance." Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, following the direction he was given and finding himself in another dull room.  
"Ah, Sherlock, right?" the doctor asked. She stretched her hand across in introduction. "I am Doctor Wilson."  
"Hmm, yes." Sherlock replied, refusing the handshake and sitting down at the desk.  
"Okay well, let's not waste time."  
"That would be best. You have your family to see as soon as you finish my appointment."  
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that?"  
"You've got a picture of your family on your desk, which shows you're here quite a lot and you miss them during your working hours. There is a young girl, your daughter, stood very close to you on this picture so you have a close bond. Picture can't be too old, so she is still a child, and today is a Tuesday so she will be coming home from school in an hour."  
The doctor stared at him for a few seconds before moving on, ignoring all of his comment. "So, your brother says you're hearing voices. Do you want to tell me about that?"  
"No."  
"I'm just here to help, Sherlock."  
"I don't need it."  
"Yes you do, you have a serious problem here," the doctor sighed. "Who does the voice belong to?"  
"Nobody."  
"Okay then. How long have you heard it for?"  
Sherlock laughed a little bit. "You are really not prepared for me as a patient, Dr Wilson. You've only been a therapist for a year. I am afraid that I'm a little more complicated than you're used to."  
"Why's that?"  
"I can spill out your life story by just looking at your for a few seconds. This appointment is meant to be one hour long, but you won't even make it to ten minutes once you realise how much I could tell about you from your office desk."  
The doctor looked interested, and smiled slightly. "Go on then."  
Sherlock shrugged. This could be fun.  
"You had a past with depression, anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder when you were a teenager. You're still trying to cope with them, in fact. Oh, you're panicking now. Am I scaring you? Sorry, don't mean to. Your desk is very neat, everything has a place here and your eyes keep flickering to this little picture of a dog," Sherlock adjusted the frame slightly so it was facing her more. "There you go, back to order."  
The doctor looked overwhelmed.  
"_Brilliant._"  
Sherlock's eyes became more alert suddenly.  
"What's wrong Sherlock?" She asked, suddenly looking more concerned.  
"John."  
"All right, who is John?" her voice became more calm and Sherlock couldn't prevent the words that flowed out of his mouth.  
"You said 'brilliant' and it was John's voice, not yours. I can hear him in people's words. They don't sound like themselves, I don't hear both voices, I just hear John. He is my friend."  
"And where is John now?"  
"Dead."  
"How did he die, Sherlock?"  
Sherlock leaned into his hands which rested on his knees. "He was in an explosion and it's all my fault that he was out near it. He would be fine if I hadn't put that severed head in the fridge."  
The doctor's mouth opened and closed before Sherlock looked back up at her. She didn't even want to know why there was a head in his fridge...  
"It's not your fault, Sherlock." She explained. "You weren't the one that caused the explosion, right?"  
"Right."  
"So it's not your fault."

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**A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback I've received so far! I'm very grateful. More reviews will be much appreciated as they help me to improve my writing! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!**

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"_Come back, Sherlock._"  
"Stop it. Stop it." Sherlock yelled. "Why are you always in my head?"  
There was an arm around him and it was helping him up. Sherlock's eyes opened and he was greeted by Lestrade. Mrs Hudson was stood nearby looking emotional as usual.  
It had been a month since Sherlock had first seen the therapist, and things weren't getting even the slightest bit better. Mycroft tried to visit Sherlock every day, Mrs Hudson was sent to check on Sherlock every hour or so, and Lestrade tried to check up whenever possible.  
"You're alright Sherlock," Lestrade said, heaving him up onto the couch instead of the floor he had been lying down on.  
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his eyes.  
"Have you been eating properly?" Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed how much thinner the man had become recently.  
"I don't remember."  
Lestrade got his phone out immediately, walked into the kitchen and called Mycroft, who hadn't been able to visit the previous day, and the day before that was only brief. He guessed Sherlock hadn't eaten anything for more than forty-eight hours.  
"Mycroft, he's not been eating and I've just walked in to find him screaming on the floor." Lestrade's voice was as angry as a shout but as quiet as a whisper. "I thought you said this therapy would make him better?"  
"It was meant to. He just cannot be helped." Mycroft sounded truly sad at his own words.  
"Maybe we're not doing enough, I really think we should put him in hospital where he can be monitored properly..."  
"I fully agree with you." Mycroft stated. "I will get him into a hospital today."  
"Good, I'll speak to you later then."  
"Goodbye Lestrade."  
"Bye Mycroft."

All of the people who could have been considered a friend to Sherlock worried about him. He went to the hospital as requested by Lestrade without hesitation. He was not the same man as he used to be.  
A short, blond haired nurse came into the room once Sherlock had been there for an hour and tried to get him to eat something.  
"Hello Sherlock!" he greeted happily. "How are you feeling?"  
"Like dying." He replied miserably.  
"Right," the nurse replied with wide eyes. "Well, maybe some food will make you feel a bit better-"  
"I can't be bothered to eat."  
The nurse walked over and put a glass of orange juice and a sandwich on the table next to Sherlock's bed then glanced hopefully at Lestrade, who was leaning against the wall, and Mrs Hudson, who was sat in a big chair next to the bed, then left the room without another word.  
"Come on, dear," Mrs Hudson said in a motherly tone. "You must eat something or you'll make yourself ill."  
Sherlock didn't say anything to her and just crawled down into the bed and turned his back to her.  
"Sherlock," Lestrade sighed. "Jo-"  
"Don't tell me what John would want me to do because it isn't going to help the situation, Lestrade."  
"Okay then." Lestrade felt defeated. He decided to change the subject. "Got a nice murder case in the other day."  
"Oh, did you hear that Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson said happily. She knew how much Sherlock used to love those.  
"I need to sleep now," Sherlock wanted them to shut up. "I'll eat when I wake up."  
"Alright then," Lestrade replied. "You have a good sleep and we'll come back in an hour to see you again, right?"  
"Of course." Sherlock shut his eyes to fall asleep.  
"_Goodbye Sherlock. I'll be back soon._"  
"Bye dear," Mrs Hudson said as she closed the door behind her and Lestrade.  
Sherlock waited for a few seconds before sitting up again. At least he hadn't lost his acting skills. A smile played on his face for a half second before he resumed his usual expressionless emotion.  
He had become used to hearing people sound like John so he had lost his usual shocked response to it. He knew it was Lestrade speaking, not John. It would never be John. Because John was dead.  
Sherlock pulled at his own curly hair for a second before throwing his legs out of the bed and staring disgustedly at the sandwich on his table. He hovered by the door before opening it slowly and peeking his head out, looking for any doctors who may have been roaming nearby.  
He closed it behind him and then walked the corridors calmly. He had to blend in.  
"I've come to see Sherlock Holmes?"  
Sherlock paused. That was a voice he hadn't heard in a while. Molly. She had not responded all too well to Sherlock's breakdown over the past few months. It upset her too much.  
"He's in room 21, down the hall."  
"Thank you," she answered in her usual chirpy voice.  
Sherlock flung a bathroom door open and rushed inside. Good job nobody was in there.  
He waited until the footsteps passed then looked out again, seeing no sign of the girl anywhere. He found his way to the staircase soon enough, and off he went.  
Sherlock had lost the little bounce in his step, an extreme lack of energy. His coat had become a lot bigger on him too, but he still wore it a lot because it smelt of home. The man had much paler skin, his cheekbones even more prominent on his face than they previously where. His ribs and hip-bones stuck out far more than they should have to be considered healthy, and his hands were always very cold.  
Soon, Sherlock reached his destination and took his phone out of his pocket, calling John's number and reaching the answer phone.  
"Mycroft, I know you're going to check this phone and John's phone, and this was the only way I could do it. I just wanted to say..." he hesitated for a few seconds. "Thank you, brother. Tell Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly I say goodbye."  
He ended the call and dropped the phone onto the rooftop of the building, and stepped until he was on the edge. His heart was racing slightly, but he told himself to calm down. Everything would be okay because soon he would get to be back with John and he'd be happy.  
He took a deep inhale of air.  
"See you soon, John."  
Then Sherlock fell.

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**A/N: I'm so sorry for this. I made myself really sad writing this, so I hope I haven't ruined your mood too much :c Reviews are very much appreciated! Please do leave one if you have the time x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!**

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Sherlock could only hear the sound of beeping monitors around him. He was still alive. It hadn't worked. How had he survived that fall? He wanted to kick himself. Could he move his legs? Sherlock moved his body slightly and found that he seemed to be moving just fine.  
"_Sherlock?_"  
He still didn't open his eyes upon hearing whoever it was that John's voice was taking over. He didn't care who it was because it certainly wasn't John.  
"Leave me alone, I want to sleep more." Sherlock's voice was extremely croaky. It hurt his throat a bit to speak.  
"_Hell, Sherlock!" _ the person shouted. "_Doctor!"  
_There was the sound of some footsteps rushing into the room.  
"Sherlock, can you hear us?" one voice said. "Can you open your eyes for me?"  
"No. I don't want to."  
There was a little giggle. It sounded too much like John and Sherlock groaned.  
"Stop it."  
"Stop what, Sherlock?" a doctor asked. "Are you in any pain?"  
_"Sherlock, what's wrong? Will you please open your eyes?"  
_"Who's that?" Sherlock finally asked.  
"Why don't you open your eyes and see who it is?" a doctor said hopefully.  
And Sherlock knew he had to agree for the curiosity that was taking over. He adjusted his eyes in the light and looked to the side of him.  
He had to be dreaming. Sherlock immediately jumped up from his lying down position and stared into the face of the man he thought was dead. John.  
The quick movement caused the doctors to rush to fix the various medical equipments that were connected to him.  
"What's going on?" Sherlock asked, now very confused. Maybe he had died and this was where he was finding John again.  
"You bloody idiot," John laughed with tears in his eyes, embracing Sherlock in a hug. "You've had everybody worried sick about you while you've been fast asleep for three months."  
Sherlock found his own arms wrapped around John, which was actually quite uncomfortable since he was sitting in a bed and leaning to the side to hug the man. He'd never hugged him before.  
"Wait," Sherlock said, still not wanting to let go but did so anyway. "Three months?"  
He didn't need to ask what had happened really. One look at John's appearance showed him everything he needed to know. Not had a shave in a while, what was with that weird moustache growing on his face? That had to go. Hair not brushed properly, days old hair-gel. Baggy clothes, not cared much for his appearance and so obviously not left the room much. Oh, he'd lost weight. Clearly he hadn't been looking after himself that much while Sherlock had been hospitalised.  
"I was in a coma?" Sherlock asked, thinking back to the events he last remembered. "How?"  
"The explosion at Baker Street," John explained while the doctors left the room after feeling happy they had sorted everything out while the men talked. "The blast made you fall and you hit your head really hard, then you ended up in a coma."  
"You stayed here?"  
John looked embarrassed and a little lost for words for a few seconds. "Um, yeah."  
"Good. I wasn't just going crazy then," Sherlock responded. "You better call everyone and tell them I'm awake, I presume they'll want to see me after not hearing my judgements for such a long time."  
John giggled a bit. "I see being asleep for three months hasn't changed you much?"  
"Of course not."  
"Good."

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**A/N: Thank you to everybody who has read this fanfic! I hope you liked it! **  
**I was thinking of writing another one that is from John's POV while this was all going on? Tell me what you think of that idea And please leave a review if you can! Your opinions and advice helps me to improve on my writing so that is very important . **  
**Can't thank anyone enough for supporting this fic, I'm so thankful :3 **


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